Antoinette Jadaone's Sunshine (Project 8 Projects, Anima Studios, Happy Infinite Productions, Cloudy Duck Pictures, 2024) captures a young woman who knows she’s on the precipice of immense change, but when it comes it hurts, yet she's ultimately strengthened by it. Followed by an unexpected pregnancy, aspiring gymnast Sunshine Francisco (Maris Racal) is forced to make grown-up decisions despite being just a kid herself. What’s most interesting about Jadaone’s screenplay is how it challenges our perceptions both positive and negative. She's clearly out to elicit a response, not so much in a provocative way but a therapeutic one. No matter how balanced you may try to be as a viewer, you’re going to choose a side predicated on your own experiences (and perhaps even your own gender). And you may feel like the side you’re on is unfair in some moments and justified in others. As Sunshine seeks comfort, both her and the audience are able to see how much she’s changed. The moments spent with her sister, Geleen (Jennica Garcia) are affecting, because they show Sunshine caught in flux between her past and future. The story’s conflicts expose the shortcomings of her character and ultimately begs the question who is the person she is about to become. After a shocking revelation (one that literally unfolds with all the grace of a door being thrown open and does that shock ever work), Sunshine and Miggy (Elijah Canlas) begin to cut at each other, Jadaone soon makes a strong case for Sunshine having to sort out her own pain. Racal delivers a performance that builds in intensity and depth as the film unfolds and captures the nuances of quiet strength and vulnerability. The specificity with which she approaches the character keeps her believable at every turn. It helps when an actress fully understands the role placed before her. Another fantastic bit of acting comes from Garcia as Geleen specifically when she figures out that Sunshine is pregnant. The push and pull of Sunshine and the young girl (Annika Co) illustrates the struggle to reconcile her youth with the immense weight of her decision. The dialogue churns, pulses and all, but it also knows when to grind to a meaningful halt.
The film is not attached to an ongoing debate or a mainstream agenda and seems like it was made completely outside of those confines, which is often rare. Sunshine is a movie about the uses and occasional uselessness of language, with stop-and-go verbal cadences that seem particularly attentive to what its characters say and don’t say. Sunshine honors feeling, passion, discomfort and hurt, and drops the audience into this world without an explanation. That style carries over to Pao Orendain’s equally raw cinematography, capturing Manila from the almost dusty sidewalk pavements. It’s a smooth snapshot of the fleeting yet monumental moments of despair and self-actualization. So much of what passes for Filipino cinema focuses on our trauma. Sunshine's tendency to guard her innermost thoughts and feelings is not a defense, she can hold her own with anyone, but it’s instructive to see why she clams up around Coach Eden warmly played by Meryll Soriano and best friend, Thea (Xyriel Manabat). Rather than stitch it into the fabric of the characters’ lives as reality does, it often sticks out like a sore thumb soliciting sympathy while minimizing all other empathetic avenues. Sunshine is not without its rough moments—there's an honest examination of unwanted pregnancy and abortion. This re-calibrates the characters as people who are dealing with human issues. Sunshine comes to life in dialogue of brash vitality and passionate understanding; the actors aided by Jadaone’s attentive direction, realize these scenes with energy that the overarching plot often omits. Sunshine captures that unexpected, earth-shattering moment in life when you realize adulthood, real adulthood, is not so simple. It’s difficult, it’s scary, and it’s heartbreaking at times. That’s what Racal’s beautiful performance conveys. When Miggy turned his back on their relationship once it reaches a pinnacle, you feel it in your gut she’s stuck alone with overwhelming emotions.
Written and Directed By; Antoinette Jadaone
Director of Photography: Pao Orendain, LPS
Production Designer: Eero Yves S. Francisco, PDCP
Editor: Ben Tolentino
Musical Scorer: Rico Blanco
Sound Designer: Vincent Villa
